
Class J^LSVVJ. 



CoipghtN I ftv 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SOME MINOR CHORDS 



BY 



ALICE JOHNSON JONES 



PRESS OF 

EATON & MAINS 

NEW YORK 



Lassie 



Copyright, 1909, by 
ALICE JOHNSON JONES 






TO 
THOSE I LOVE BEST 



111 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

My Husband and I I 

The Portrait on the Wall 3 

Old Love Letters 5 

The River 7 

The Old Year 9 

An Idyl io 

A Twilight Reverie 12 

Easter Day 14 

Memory 15 

A Golden Wedding Anniversary. 17 

Friendship 19 

Drifting 20 

"La Grippe" 22 

"Aunt Allie" 23 

Autumn 24 

Resignation 25 

Moonlight at Belle Island 27 

My Brother 29 

Lines Dedicated to Dr. and Mrs. M. W. Prince 30 

Farewell to '89 32 

Heroes of To-day 34 

Two Babes 36 

The Promised Hope 38 

New Year's Eve 40 

"He Shall Not Be Afraid of Evil Tidings" 42 

To Father 44 

"Thou Shalt Die and Not Live" 45 

To My Absent Brother 47 

f a Friend 49 

v 



vi Contents 



PAGE 

A Valentine to Two Sisters 51 

Written During a Storm 52 

So Tired 54 

Lines to Jenny 56 

A Vision 58 

Spring Thoughts 60 

A Loving Farewell 62 

A Toi 64 

Yankee War Song 66 

Moving 67 

To Jessalie 69 

"Afternoon, But Not Sunset" 70 

The Old and New Friends 72 

On the Death of a Soldier 73 

Verses 75 

The Parting 78 

Lines 80 

The Dying Soldier 82 

In Memory of Mr. Charles De Klyn 85 

Three Little Girls 86 

Finis 87 

History Times 88 

A Word about Children 92 

How Willy Found a Home 95 

A True Woman's Rights Movement 97 

In the Ingle Nook 09 

How We Went to the Mountains 101 

The Fin-de-Siecle Minister 113 



MY HUSBAND AND I 

Twenty-Fifth Anniversary 

TOGETHER we have walked the way 
We started in the morning, 
And now the shades are falling fast 
And of the night give warning. 

Our skies have oftentimes been blue, 

The air been filled with singing 
And through our hearts 'bright birds of hope 

Their glad way have been winging. 

But oft'ner still a leaden sky, 

With raindrops wildly falling, 
And in our hearts the hopes of years 

Their farewell sadly calling. 

The loving Father over all 

With watchful care was bending, 

And, knowing what we needed most, 
In love to us was sending. 



My Husband and I 

We have not mucn of worldly pelf, 

Our children are our treasure, 
And all the priceless things of earth 

Their value cannot measure. 

And so the years go on apace, 

And we are growing older, 
But love's bright sunshine keeps the hearts 

It warms from growing colder. 

So what care we? our hearts are young, 

And in life's stormy weather 
We'll bravely face the fiercest storms 

So long as we're together. 



THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL 

Suggested by seeing a portrait of the late 
Rev. Nathaniel Mead 

A GRACIOUS presence fills the room, 
Like softest breath of rare perfume, 
Exhaling from some Eastern jar 
Brought o'er the sea, from lands afar, 
Intangible, yet everywhere, 
It seems to touch us like a prayer. 

Soft-falling curtains, draped within, 
Shut out life's tumult and its din; 
With hearts by mem'ries faintly stirred, 
Of something we have seen or heard, 
Our eyes glance round and quickly fall 
Upon the portrait on the wall. 

Ah ! now we guess the secret spell 
That like a benediction fell; 
3 



The Portrait on the Wall 

For we remember well the face, 
The kindly smile, the courtly grace 
Of that dear saint, whose picture still 
Has power our hearts with peace to fill. 



OLD LOVE LETTERS 

THE magical spell of these letters 
Like elixir is thrilling my brain, 
Transfusing its dull, sluggish current 
Till it throbs with youth's fervor again. 

The pretty blue ribbon that bound them 
In the years long ago is now soiled, 

And the letters have lost their neatness 
By the pressure of lips often moiled. 

But the contents, the distilled sweetness 
Of a heart brimming over with love, 

Is complete in its pristine freshness 

As when first were our vows heard above 

And to-night, as I sit here reading, 

There comes echoing down from the past 

A voice that is calling, "My darling, 
Love like ours will eternally last." 
5 



Old Love Letters 

O wonderful spell! that can bring me 
Back the voice and the face of the dead ! 

Reproducing the dear, lost lover 

Spite of all the sad years that have fled. 



THE RIVER 

THERE'S a broad, dark river 
That circles the earth, 
No sound there of laughter, 
No voice there of mirth. 

No bridge thrown across it, 
No light there in sight — 

Dark mists overhang it, 
The stars give no light. 

No gleam in the distance, 
No light from the shore, 

Our loved ones are silent 
To us evermore. 

No mortal can tell us, 

For none have returned 
Revealing the secrets 

In death they have learned. 
7 



The River 



We know we must cross it, 

Go into its gloom; 
As well plunge in boldly 

As struggle with doom. 



There is a dim river 

By Faith's star made light, 
Where glad voices singing 

Fall soft on the night ; 

Where tired travelers coming 
Shall find sweet relief, 

Shall find rest from labor 
And respite from grief. 

We know we must cross it, 
Thank God that we may! 

This side, nights of sorrow; 
That, joy's endless day. 



THE OLD YEAR 

THE year so filled with noble deeds 
Is dying fast; we loved it well, 
It dealt so kindly, tenderly, 

And sad we hear its parting knell. 

The New Year's coming, young and fair, 
The bells peal out, the moments fly; 

A shadow falls athwart the sky — 

The Old Year's dead ! Good-by, good-by ! 



AN IDYL 

IN the cottage by the mill, 
Sitting on the yellow sill, 
There she is, the gentle one, 
Who my heart long since has won. 

She has on the purple dress 
That I love, I must confess, 
And the ribbon in her hair 
That I brought her from the fair; 

By her side the babe asleep, 
Cat and dog their vigils keep, 
While the sunbeams seem to play 
Round them in a loving way. 

Through the door the table's seen 
With its covering, neat and clean, 
By her hand 'tis neatly spread, 
I can see the wholesome bread. 



An Idyl II 



All is ready, I must haste, 
Nor one single moment waste— 
Wife and child are waiting now 
Father's kisses on their brow. 



A TWILIGHT REVERIE 

SITTING alone in the twilight dim, 
I am thinking of the past — of him, 
Who, far away in the sunny hours, 
When life was bright with birds and flowers, 
Came from his home beyond the sea 
And won my heart, so glad and free. 
'Twas in the rare, sweet month of June, 
The unromantic hour of noon; 
We wandered far over vale and hill 
Till weary, we, beside a rill, 
Sat us down beneath a spreading tree 
And there he told his love for me. 
At first he spoke in the sweetest rhymes, 
Of far off lands and sunny climes, 
Then, turning on me his love-lit eye — 
Bluer by far than distant sky — 
He told me naught in the earth or air 
With love was worthy to compare ; 
But enough of this — he won my heart ! 
The story old — Fate bade us part : 



A Twilight Reverie 13 



He to wander and half forget, 

Me to love till life's sun shall set. 

I have heard where convent vesper bell 

Tolled for his soul a parting knell; 

He fell asleep and was laid to rest 

While sweet-voiced nuns proclaimed him blest ; 

And I live on, and the only chime 

Of music in this heart of mine 

Is that which comes when in twilight dim, 

Sitting alone, I think of him. 



EASTER DAY 

LET in the bright sunshine, 
Lay the black all away. 
May no mark of sorrow 

Mar this glad Easter Day! 
Let jubilates ring 
And earth and heaven sing 
Alleluia ! 

Bring roses and lilies 
And everything sweet, 

To breathe out their perfume 
At the dear Master's feet; 

For he has arisen ! 

The Lord has arisen! 
Alleluia ! 



14 



MEMORY 

ALL night long have I been wand'ring 
To and fro in mem'ry's halls, 
Half in joy and half in sadness 
Gazing on its pictured walls ; 

Gazing into eyes that never 

Failed to answer back to mine, 
Pressing lips that used to thrill me 

With a joy almost divine; 

Clasping hands whose firm, strong pressure 
Made me think life's bitt'rest blast 

Should it touch, could never harm me 
While those dear hands held me fast ; 

Folded in the arms of loved ones, 

List'ning to the music sweet 
Of the half- forgotten pet names 

That 'twixt kisses, they repeat; 



1 6 Memory 



Eyes, whose light from earth has vanished, 
Lips, whence kisses long since fled, 

Hands, unclasped from mine forever, 
Voices, silent with the dead. 



Morning breaks the blessed thraldom, 
Breaks the spell around me thrown. 

Thanking God, I take life's burden : 
With memory, I'm not alone. 



A GOLDEN WEDDING ANNIVERSARY 

OUITE half of a hundred years has fled 
Since lover and maid, you two, were wed; 
Veiled as you stand in the golden haze 
Of your late Indian summer days, 
We, gazing, wonder if you would say 
Marriage's the failure it's called to-day. 

Winsome nestlings around you have grown, 
Expanding in strength till they have flown 
From the parent nest; your pride and joy, 
Loving daughters and dutiful boy, 
They're children still to you, I know, 
With the child who died so long ago. 

Ministering to others forty years, 
Assuaging sorrows and drying tears, 
Leading poor sinners, by counsel sweet 
To lay their sins at the Master's feet, 
Bright will your crown of rejoicing be 
Through the ages of eternity. 

i7 



1 8 A Golden Wedding Anniversary 



Looking backward through wearisome years, 
Remembering jointly the smiles and tears, 
The household joys and the anxious cares, 
The new-made graves and the vacant chairs, 
Tell us, true husband and loyal wife, 
Is it a failure, this wedded life? 



FRIENDSHIP 

MANY years our friendship has lasted, 
Royally steadfast, loving and true ; 
The years bring changes, but we change not, 
You loyal to me and I to you. 

Love may grow cold as years speed onward, 
Frosting the hair and dimming the eye ; 

Friendship will last though youth has vanished, 
We've proved it, "My Faithful," you and I. 



19 



DRIFTING 

DRIFTING with the tide, love, 
Drifting with the tide, 
Far away from thee, love, 
On the waters wide. 

Drifting with the tide, love, 

Drifting in the dark, 
None to take the helm, love, 

None to steer the bark. 

Not beneath the bridge, love, 

Where the shadows lie, 
But where moonbeams play, love, 

I would say good-by. 

Wearily I drift, love, 

Toward yon silver space. 

There I'll look my last, love, 

On your pictured face. 
20 



Drifting 2 1 



I am done with life, love, 

With its toils and cares. 
Why should winds and waves, love, 

To me whisper prayers? 

Prayers that make me think, love, 

Of the days of yore, 
Days of innocence, love, 

Lost — forever more. 

O my love, my lost love ! 

Hear my last good-by! 
It is best for you, love, 

That to-night I die. 



Morning's gray light breaking 
O'er the waters wide, 

Finds an empty boat, just — 
Drifting with the tide. 



"LA GRIPPE" 

IN our city "La Grippe" is king, 
And of the tyrant now I sing. 
He dims the eyes and fills the head 
And makes us wish that we were dead ; 
With dizzy brains and aching bones, 
Our homes we fill with sighs and moans ; 
Our pulse is weak, our heart beats low, 
What will come next we do not know ! 
But all the signs to us portend 
That this is not the "bitter end." 
God help us each, God help us all 
Who to "La Grippe" a victim fall ! 



22 



"AUNT ALLIE" 

IN her narrow little bed, 
With the green turf overhead, 
Where the birdlets love to sing 
In the early month of spring 
And the gentle zephyrs stray, 
Round her bed soft notes to play ; 
She is sleeping sweetly now 
With death's seal upon her brow, 

But her mem'ry is a joy, 
And in it there's no alloy, 
For she was so good and kind 
She around our hearts entwined; 
And "Aunt Allie's" name you'll find 
With the heart's best treasure shrined, 
Like an angel filled with love 
Pointing to the realms above. 



«3 



AUTUMN 

SCARLET, yellow, and golden brown, 
Like birds the leaves are flying down.. 
Rustling softly beneath our feet, 
Music they're making crisp and sweet. 

Purplish clouds with opaline tints, 
Brightened with gold and silv'ry glints, 
Float in a sky that seems to hide 
Paradise on the other side. 

Shadowy mists enfold her face, 
Veiling Autumn with tender grace; 
Southward flying, the robins sing — 
Winter's coming, her spouse, her King! 



24 



RESIGNATION 

YOU tell me I've a pleasant home, 
With husband kind and children dear, 
And chide me that I weep and moan 
For those who are no longer here. 

But O ! I cannot check the tears ; 

With desolation aches my heart, 
I feel like one who's all alone — 

From those around me stood apart. 

Of those who made my childhood's home, 
There is not one who's left to me ; 

God help me ! every one is gone 
From time into eternity. 

And, lisfning through the years, I know 
No voice shall come, like music sweet, 

Calling—"My sister," or "My child," 
Or my pet name again repeat. 

25 



26 Resignation 



Father! my sun is in the west; 

The night comes on apace, I see. 
Grant me thy blessing, let me rest ; 

Thou doest what is best for me 



MOONLIGHT AT BELLE ISLAND 

OTHE rapture of the moonlight, 
Tracing on the summer sea 
Burnished paths of silv'ry splendor, 
Grandly beautiful to see! 

O'er the waters voices singing 

Words of hope and heav'nly cheer, 

Somehow make us feel the angels 
To this place come very near. 

Rhythmic oars are softly splashing, 

White-winged yachts sail noiseless by, 

And a glamour steals the senses, 
Melts the heart and dims the eye. 

Weariness is all forgotten, 

Far away the world of care 

Whose faint echoes only reach us 

Telling what they're doing there. 
27 



28 Moonlight at Belle Island 



O the moonlight, how it cheats us, 
With its minstrelsy divine, 

Playing softly on our heart strings 
Strains that banish care and time ! 



MY BROTHER 

MY heart is filled with mem'ries sweet 
Of one dear boy I used to know. 
"Good-by, sweetheart," he said to me, 
Long years ago, long years ago. 

I loved him then, I love him still; 

Ah, heart of mine, be glad, be glad ! 
The years roll on — I soon shall see 

My bonny, bonny sailor lad. 

The waves have sung his requiem 
Through days of shine and days of rain, 

And yet I feel within my heart 
The same old loss, the same old pain. 



29 



LINES 

Dedicated to Dr. and Mrs. M. W. Prince on their 
Silver Wedding Day 

NOVEMBER winds were stripping the trees 
And carpeting earth with rustling leaves, 
When Morris Prince, then a handsome youth, 
With tongue of silver and heart of truth, 
A-wooing went in the State of Maine, 
And, lucky for him, 'twas not in vain. 

The maiden was kind as all maids are, 

Wherever you see them, near or far, 

So "Charming Prince," with his honeyed words, 

Sweeter by far than singing of birds, 

Too much in love to trust fickle fate 

Ran away and married pretty Kate. 

Now twenty-five years have passed away 
And we hail the Silver Wedding Day. 

30 



Lines 31 

We've come from our homes to greet you, friends ; 
But the muse, whose voice its presence lends, 
Is all too weak in words to express 
The blessings we crave your lives to bless. 

In deepest joy there's a note of pain, 
A minor chord in each glad refrain. 
The undertone we ignore to-day, 
And only the joyous music play; 
For we all to greet you fully mean 
In nineteen hundred and seventeen. 



FAREWELL TO '89 

MINGLING with the gladsome joy bells 
Ringing in the young New Year, 
There's a minor chord of sorrow 
For the old one, lone and drear. 

Hopeful eyes are looking forward . 

To a future bright with cheer, 
Tearful ones are glancing backward 

Toward the graves made new this year. 

Dear Old Year ! Thou hast dealt kindly, 

Giving what for us was best ; 
Many worn and weary pilgrims 

Thou hast led to "Perfect Rest." 

Saddened lives thy blessed healing 

Has made brave and strong to live ; 
Countless hearts thy days have gladdened 

With the best that life can give. 
32 



Farewell to '89 33 



Fare thee well ! we'll not forget thee. 

Hark ! thy death-bell sadly knells, 
But above the dismal wailings 

Sound the joyous New Year bells. 



L 



HEROES OF TO-DAY 

Suggested by the Johnstown Flood 
OOKING backward through the ages, 



Dreaming o'er heroic deed, 
Is there anything that thrills us 
Like the facts to-day we read? 

Who will say there are no heroes, 
When we think of him who gave 

Life so freely, madly riding 

Through the valley, lives to save ? 

Tow'ring waves come fast behind him, 
Blinding mist the air now fills. 

Onward goes he wildly shouting — 
"For your lives, run to the hills!" 

Horse and rider both have perished, 
'Whelmed beneath the cruel wave, 

But their mem'ry will be cherished 
For a deed so true and brave. 



34 



Heroes of To-day 35 



In an office sitting, lonely, 

Is a woman, white with fear 
And an order bids her hasten 

To a place of safety near, 

But her trembling hands make answer, 
Though she knows that she may die, 

"Till I've warned them all below me, 
From my post I cannot fly." 

Click, click, click, click, click the lightning 
Outspeeds waters, rushing fast, 

And the lion-hearted woman 

Wires — "This message is my last." 

They have passed, those hearts heroic, 
But their deeds shall ever live, 

And throughout all coming ages 
Earth to them shall homage give. 



TWO BABES 

IN rose-tinted room, 
With lights softened down, 
On silken pillow, 

'Neath cover of down, 
My wee baby sleeps. 

Out in the darkness 

I hear the bells ring, 
And children's voices 

Of the Christ-child sing, 
While my baby sleeps. 

And down through ages 

To star in the sky, 
And lowly manger, 

My thoughts quickly fly 
Where a Baby sleeps. 

The Mother so pale, 
Yet radiant-faced, 
Heeds not surroundings 
In which she is placed 

While her Baby sleeps. 
36 



Two Babes 



37 



Wise men adoring, 

With song and with prayer, 
Bring from the far East 

Their offerings rare 

And give to the Babe. 

While angel voices 

Sing, "Peace and good will," 
And heavenly raptures 

The lowly place fill 

W r here the Baby sleeps. 

Ah! Baby asleep, 

Thy flag is unfurled ; 
We bow before thee, 

"Thou Light of the World." 



THE PROMISED HOPE 

WE stand, in thought, on Bethlehem's plain, 
All bathed in glory bright, 
While angel music fills the air, 
For it is Christmas night. 

Chorus 
Oh ! "Peace on earth, good will to men," 

To us a Child is born; 
We hail with joy the promised hope, 

The coming of the morn. 

We gaze with wonder on the star, 

That waits our steps to lead 
To where the Baby, lowly, lies, 

His bed where cattle feed. 

O, Mary, mother, thou art blest, 

For lo ! we see it now — 

The heavenly mark upon the Child, 

The halo round his brow ! 
38 



The Promised Hope 39 



We see the Wise Men from the East, 
With gold and spices sweet, 

Laying their priceless treasures down 
Before the young Child's feet. 

We too would bring our offerings ; 

It is our blessed right, 
And so our hearts, brim full of joy, 

We bring this Christmas night. 



NEW YEAR'S EVE 

SITTING alone in my quiet room, 
With the door left standing open wide, 
Though I hear no rustling angel wings, 
I know they're coming — the loved who died. 

The air seems heavy with unseen flowers, 
The lights burn dim, but I do not fear ; 

I cannot see for the misty tears, 

But O ! I know they are here, they're here. 

Shadowy forms are about me close, 
And snatches of music, soft and low, 

Faint ghosts of kisses on lip and brow 
And echoes of love heard long ago. 

The years roll off — I am young again ! 

Silver turns back to gold in my hair ! 
The woman weary and old to-night 

With beauty of youth is young and fair. 



40 



New Year's Eve 41 



On the burning sands, of shady palm, 
Of gushing fountain and sparkling stream, 

The thirsty traveler happy dreams — 
So I am dreaming, but let me dream. 



"HE SHALL NOT BE AFRAID OF EVIL 
TIDINGS" 

OP'NING the morning paper, 
We first, with fear and dread, 
Glance down the long, sad column 
That tells us who is dead. 

The fearful things recorded, 

That happened yesterday, 
Fill us with apprehension 

For those we love, away. 

A telegram strikes terror 

To hearts by grief unstrung, 
And lips grow white and speechless, 

While helpless hands are wrung. 

O, wives and mothers, weary 

Of shedding anxious tears, 

When shall we grasp the promise 

That will dispel our fears ? 
42 



" He Shall Not Be Afraid of Evil Tidings " 43 



When we of "evil tidings" 
No more shall be afraid ? 

O haste, dear Lord, the coming 
Of peace, so long delayed! 



TO FATHER 

DEAR Father, I have found a friend 
Who's won my heart away, 
And, should he ask your daughter's hand, 
What would you, Father, say? 

He is not rich in worldly wealth, 

But has a generous heart, 
And, in this busy, bustling world, 

He nobly acts his part. 

I never thought that I could leave 

My home and friends before, 
And now, I do not love them less, 

But O, I love him more ! 

Then should he ask your daughter's hand, 
And you, her life would bless, 

You'll take him kindly by the hand 
And answer, quickly, "Yes." 



44 



"THOU SHALT DIE AND NOT LIVE" 

AND is it true that life is fleeting, 
That soon with us 'twill be no more ? 
And must this heart, so strong, cease beating- 
Must we forever leave life's shore? 
Must we with loved ones, hands unclasping, 

Look on this world, so fair, the last, 
And on our heart strings feel the grasping 
Of that cold hand that tells life's past? 

The friends who e'er have loved us fondly, 

Can they this hour no solace bring? 
Is there no one among their number 

That through "death's flood" to us will cling? 
Alas, alas ! though well they love us, 

They cannot go beyond the brink ; 
Must we, then, brave the raging billows 

With none to save us if we sink? 

Ah no ! tho' earthly ties must sever, 
There is an Arm that cannot fail, 
45 



46 " Thou Shalt Die and Not Live " 



There is a Friend endures forever, 
And He will guide us through the "vale' 

Then we the "pearly gates" shall enter 
Into that home from sorrow free, 

And, praising Him, shall live forever, 
Who died that we might happy be. 



TO MY ABSENT BROTHER 

THROUGH night's sable curtain 
Softly falls the light; 
Bathing earth with beauty 
Comes the "Queen of Night," 

Looking on us kindly, 

On both you and me, 
Though I am at home, dear, 

And you far at sea. 

So the good God watches 

O'er us; though apart, 
We may be together 

In his loving heart. 

Need I tell you, darling, 

How I every day 
For my absent brother 

Watch and hope and pray— 
47 



48 To My Absent Brother 



Pray the "God of Battles" 
Will, where'er you roam, 

Guard and shield and bring you 
Safe to friends and home ? 



TO A FRIEND 
On the Death of Her Child 

rj^HERE'S a little white-robed form 
JL In a narrow, green-turfed bed, 

And you, weeping, say, " Tis mine, 
'.Tis my little boy, who's dead." 

There's a curl of golden brown, 
O'er which many tears are shed, 

For 'twas severed from the brow 
Of the little boy who's dead. 

There's a bureau drawer that's filled 
With some little clothes and toys, 

These you hold as sacred now, 
For they were your precious boy's. 

And there is an "aching void 
That this world can never fill," 

And you ofttimes strive in vain 
Your rebellious thoughts to still. 
49 



50 To a Friend 



By faith, through your tears, look up 
To the world of endless joy; 

There where partings never come 
You will meet your darling boy. 



A VALENTINE TO TWO SISTERS 

MY sweetest girls, I love you! 
So do not think me rude 
If I my love confessing 

Write verses somewhat crude. 

You, Helen are so queenly, 

And just a little cold, 
But some one else will win you 

If I'm not prompt and bold. 

Dear Mabel, little sweetheart, 
Would love me well I know, 

But there's another fellow — 
Alas ! a younger beau. 

My heart is all divided, 

For both of you I pine, 
And one of you must take me 

To be "Your Valentine. ,, 



5* 



WRITTEN DURING A STORM 

LOUD the winds to-night are blowing, 
Waves are tossing mountain high, 
And there's naught above to cheer us — 
Clouds are dark'ning all the sky. 

We from storm are safely sheltered, 
But there's some upon the sea, 

And among the storm-tossed sailors 
There is one who's dear to me. 

There is one whose fond heart gladly 
All life's chilling blasts would brave, 

If he thought that by so doing 

He his loved from grief could save. 

Though his head is whit'ning over 
With the silvery hoar of years, 

He with heart and hand unflinching 
Bravely through life's breakers steers. 
52 



Written During a Storm 53 



O, may God his bark guide safely 
Through this dark and stormy night, 

Bring it safely into harbor 
With the early morning light! 



SO TIRED 

FATHER, I am so tired, 
So weary of life's cares, 
Sometimes I am too tired 
To say my nightly prayers. 

Above my pathway rough, 
The shadows heavy lie, 

And stumbling in the dark, 
Childlike, I can but cry. 

I know there is a place 
Where it is always day, 

But here it is so dark 
I cannot find the way. 



Put down your burdens, child, 
So hard for you to bear, 

And try to trust My love 
And My protecting care. 
S4 



So Tired 55 



You need not fear the dark. 

Hold fast My guiding hand, 
And I will lead you safe 

Unto that "better land," 

Where it is always light, 
And where, an honored guest, 

You, poor, tired child, shall find 
A never-ending rest. 



LINES TO JENNY 

JENNY dear, the autumn winds 
Are sighing through the trees, 
Music sweet is brought to me 
On every passing breeze. 

True, the chant so sweet to hear 

Is Summer's requiem, 
But it is not sad to me — 

"Her work was nobly done." 

Weary, she has gone to rest; 

Bury her o'er with leaves, 
While the winds her funeral dirge 

Sing on among the trees. 

Bitterly the clouds did weep 
To see gay Summer die, 

But hope told the Sun to paint 
His colors on the sky. 
56 



Lines to Jenny 57 



When they raised their drooping heads 
Dispelled were all their fears, 

For all shining bright, they saw 
A rainbow 'mid their tears. 

Cannot you and I, dear Jen, 

Smile even while we weep? 
For we'll meet the loved again 

With Summer, gone to sleep. 



A VISION 

THE shadow forms of those now passed 
Into the spirit land 
Are gath'ring round me close to-night, 
A white-robed, voiceless band. 

I feel their breath upon my cheek, 

Their soft touch on my brow, 
And one I loved with gold-tipped wings 

Is hovering o'er me now. 

The soulful eyes that fondly beamed 

With love's own light for me, 
The lips that used to press my own, 

All, all I plainly see. 

But heart of mine — be still, be still ! 

It is not life, for see ! 
It dimmer grows — 'tis fading now — 

Away, away from me ! 
58 



A Vision 59 



Put down the outstretched arms again — 

Tis gone, that vision fair ; 
The form you would so madly clasp 

Is naught but empty air ! 



SPRING THOUGHTS 

ABOVE, a sky of azure blue, 
With shining white clouds floating through, 
Beneath, the ground with verdure green, 
While here and there spring flowers are seen. 

The air is filled with sweetest notes, 
Gushing from nature's songsters' "throats, 
And singing, too, the brooklet flows 
And all things look "couleur de rose." 

When all things seem to be so glad, 
Pray why should I alone be sad ? 
All nature sings, and so will I, 
And to the winds let sorrow fly. 

I from life's flowers will honey sip, 

And if the bitter touch my lip, 

I'll take it with a thankful heart, 

For of life's lesson 'tis a part. 

60 



Spring Thoughts 61 



Come rain or shine, come friend or foe, 
I'll be content, for this I know — 
That He who made the earth and sea, 
Knows well and sends what's best for me. 



A LOVING FAREWELL 

{From The Christian Advocate) 
The following verses were read at a social meeting on the occasion of 
the departure of a pastor at the close of his term a few weeks ago. 
By a careful study of the lines his name can be ascertained. But they 
are printed here, not merely in his honor, but because they seem to 
express well the feelings of those who are bereaved of a true pastor. 

THERE'S something in the air to-night 
That fills our hearts with dread, 
And words are trembling on our lips 
We fain would leave unsaid. 

O, friends, I know I voice your thoughts; 

This social hour here passed 
Will be for some we dearly love 

For years, at least, the last. 

Three years ago there came to us 

A Prince, with consort wise; 
They only came to stay three years — 

Ah me ! how fast time flies ! 

At once they bound us with love's chain, 

So strong, it cannot break; 
And now, wherever they may roam, 

Our hearts with them they'll take. 

62 



A Loving Farewell 63 



With sermons deep and counsel sweet 

He pointed out the way, 
Through all life's dark and stormy night, 

Unto the perfect day. 

He joined the hands of those who sought 

Their lives in one to blend, 
And with his benediction brought 

Nearer the Heavenly Friend. 

His presence made our sick-rooms bright ; 

Beside our graves he stood ; 
And taught our poor, rebellious hearts 

That God is always good. 

With loving hands he led the lambs 

Into the church's fold, 
And hedged them round with tend'rest care 

To keep them from the cold. 

And now he leaves, this pastor, friend, 
And we, with tear-dimmed eye, 

With all its meaning fully fraught, 
Breathe out a sad "Good-by." 



A TOI 

OMY darling ! my heart's aching 
With its weary load of woe, 
Grief, that I must bear unspoken, 
That no one on earth must know. 

Through the years my sad eyes searching, 
Find no spot where I can rest, 

Like Ahasuerus I wander, 

With no hope of being blessed. 

Dreams of most exquisite rapture 
Sometimes float across my brain, 

Loving words and soft caresses 
Soothe awhile away the pain; 

But, alas ! for that drear present 

That gives only joy in sleep, 
Sad indeed is the awak'ning 

When we only wake to weep. 
64 



A Toi 65 

Gladly I my chains would shatter. 

Powerless I find my will. 
I cannot forget thee, darling, 

But, though hopeless, love thee still. 



YANKEE WAR SONG 

THROW out the Starry Flag, my boys, 
Let's show our rebel foes 
That through the "Mudsills of the North" 
The blood of heroes flows. 

True, we are made of common clay 

And they, of porcelain; 
But now's the time to show them, boys, 

Which makes the better men. 

We'll not forget we're "hirelings," 

They "nature's noblemen," 
And when we meet, a volley, boys, 

Shall honor "upper ten." 

Then lift the flag aloft and swear, 

"Above Rebellion's grave, 

Where now secession's colors flaunt 

Our dear Old Flag shall wave." 
66 



MOVING 

WE smiled as we talked of moving, 
But change has come over our dream, 
As we stand in rooms deserted 

It's not as we thought it would seem. 

We did not know how we loved it, 
This home that has sheltered us years, 

And we find we cannot leave it 
Without shedding some farewell tears. 

We think of the dear ones carried 
So tenderly out through the door, 

And our hearts grow wild with anguish 
For those we shall see here no more. 

Friendships have here been cemented 

That absence nor change cannot break, 

And we hold some rooms as sacred 

For those well-beloved friends' dear sake ; 
67 



68 Moving 



Why, every room is haunted 

With memories, tender and sweet, 

With sounds of childish laughter 
And pattering of little feet ; 

With neighborly acts of kindness, 
Remembered to-day as we part, 

And we say, "God bless our neighbors," 
From the depths of a grateful heart. 

We pause at the outer threshold 
And look backward with tearful eye ; 

'Tis our last farewell, old homestead — 
Good-by, dear home, good-by, good-by. 



TO JESSALIE 

A BEAUTIFUL piece of linen, 
As fine as fine can be, 
'Broidered with exquisite neatness 

And skill that's rare to see — 
Of such was my birthday present, 

A work of weary hours, 
When needle and hand wrought swiftly 

Making the lovely flowers. 
Ah, daughter! the gift is pretty, 

But love that underlies 
Is what makes it seem so precious 

To mother's heart and eyes. 



69 



"AFTERNOON, BUT NOT SUNSET" 

Suggested by an . article stating that "man's best 
work is done before middle life" 

THE morning has vanished, 
With hurried preparing 
And anxious outlooking, 

Perplexing and wearing; 
We hardly were ready, 

But work was so driving 
We hid our unfitness 
With earnest contriving. 

The noontime went rushing 

With bustling confusion, 
Sure worry and turmoil 

Were joined in collusion; 
We longed for sedatives, 

For work we were ready, 
But how could we manage 

To keep our nerves steady ? 



70 



"Afternoon, But Not Sunset" 71 



In the sunshine and warmth 

Of the long afternoon 
The buds of the morning 

Are just bursting to bloom; 
And we in the quiet, 

Hearts and intellects rife, 
Rejoice to be doing 

The best work of our life. 

By and by when sunset, 

Fading out in the west, 
Leaves us in the gloaming, 

We'll be longing for rest; 
The rest that is promised 

When our life work is done, 
And the Master welcomes 

With, "Ye blessed ones, come." 



THE OLD AND NEW FRIENDS 

A WINSOME charm's about them- 
The friends of nowaday ; 
Our hearts they boldly enter 
As if they'd come to stay. 

We cannot help but love them, 

For they are good and true ; 
But they are not like "old friends" ! 

And, Dearest, not like you ! 



72 



ON THE DEATH OF A SOLDIER 

WRAP the Stars and Stripes about him, 
In his life he loved them well; 
Naught more fitting could enshroud him 
Than the flag for which he fell. 

Place his sword upon the coffin, 

He will never use it more ; 
Now he's done with war's fierce conflict, 

He has gained the peaceful shore. 

Muffled drums and sable vestments, 

Pallid lips, the tears that fall, 
Show how much we loved the hero 

Resting 'neath this starry pall. 

Tolling bells and flags half masted 

Mark the passage of the brave, 
Who for love of right and country 

Found so soon a soldier's grave. 
73 



74 On the Death of a Soldier 



Brave young soldier, sweetly sleeping, 
Where the cannon's fearful roar 

And the storm and shock of battle 
Can disturb you nevermore, 

In our country's future hist'ry 
With the honored loved, your name 

Shall be placed in golden letters, 
Written by the hand of fame. 



VERSES 

Read at the Farewell Sociable to the Reverend 
C. H. Buck 

1 SOMETIMES wish I'd never 
A Methodist been born, 
For Methodistic partings 
Are terribly forlorn. 

Our hearts get tired of aching, 

Our eyes of shedding tears, 
We say, "We will not love them," 

Whoever next appears." 

And then we cannot help it; 

Some way it's just the same, 
And by and by the parting 

Upsets us all again. 

There's something queer about it — 

Howe'er we loved the rest, 
The pastor who is leaving 

We always love the best. 

75 



76 Verses 



We've watched with admiration, 
How steadfastly and true 

You've carried out each purpose 
For good you had in view. 

Your cheerful mien and spirit 
Has helped us oft to bear 

Our sorrows and our burdens 
And lightened every care. 

Your wife, with tact and talent, 
Your children, full of cheer, 

Have added much to brighten 
The years you have been here. 

The traits we loved in others 
You, too, may rightly claim, 

And so we will not bother 
To mention them by name. 

We're glad for you, you're going 
In foreign lands to roam ; 

May God protect and bring you 
Again to friends and home. 



Verses 77 

May ocean claim no tribute, 

Your ship have best of luck, 
May winds and waves waft gently 

The "Family of Buck." 

We mingle joy and sorrow — 

Sunshine and rain contend; 
It's always so whenever 

Meetings and partings blend. 



THE PARTING 

THE time has come for us to part, 
We who've been friends together 
Until our heart strings are entwined ; 
And now we part forever. 

I do not say to you "Forget" ; 

I know that you never will, 
And I, within my inmost soul, 

Shall faithfully love you still. 

O, it is sad, that we whose lives, 
So joyous, would have blended, 

Must part, to meet no more in love — 
For us, alas! 'tis ended. 

'Tis best to part, and yet the thought 
With grief my heart is crushing, 

And, though I strive to keep them back, 
My eyes with tears are gushing. 
78 



The Parting 79 



O, hold me closer, closer still! 

For I hear our parting knell ; 
Call me your darling once again, 

God keep you, Dear heart — farewell ! 



LINES 

Written for the Semi-centennial of the Stamford 
Methodist Episcopal Church 

IT'S hardly right to take the time 
To read to you this simple rhyme, 
But you will pardon when you know 
That I remember, years ago; 
Except myself, I don't suppose 
That there's a single female knows 
About the time we built the church 
And left the old one in the lurch. 



When Robert Hatfield came to preach, 

His eloquence and earnest speech, 

Combined with his rare personnel, 

Made all who knew him, love him well ; 

And when he left we feared that we 

No more his like should ever see; 

But since that time, a long array 

Of well-beloved have served their day. 
80 



Lines 81 

Now, Robert and his charming wife 

Won many to the "better life," 

And soon the church was more than filled; 

Without delay, we had to build. 

We all did gladly what we could, 

And yet a large deficit stood ; 

But, with the pastor, new blood came, 

Brothers they were and Hoyt their name. 

With consecrated wealth and heart 
'Twas easy to fulfill their part, 
And so we reared this building fair, 
With earnest hope and heartfelt prayer. 
How well we builded, you all know, 
Fifty, yes, fifty years ago. 

Tears mingle with our smiles to-day — 
So many loved have gone away. 
But listen ! — far above the blue 
Voices are heard that once we knew, 
And angel faces seem to bend, 
As if their presence here to lend. 
They are but one, and, O, so near! — 
The church above and this one here. 



THE DYING SOLDIER 

THE perfumed shower of snow 
The winds just wafted me, 
Reminds me of the fragrance 

Of the old apple tree 
That stands beside the homestead, 

That homestead old and hoar, 
Where dwell the precious loved ones 
That I shall see no more. 

I wish, beneath its shadow 

Where Mary's love me blessed, 
This maimed and shattered body 

Could take its last, long rest : 
But Mary, mother, father, 

Your soldier boy can sleep 
Though no loved hands shall shroud him, 

No friends above him weep. 

Your only one to freedom 

A sacrifice you gave, 
82 



The Dying Soldier 83 



For I am nearing Jordan, 
Its waters now me lave ; 

My heart is aching sadly 
For but one last good-by, 

Yet all alone I'm dying — 
Not one loved friend is nigh. 

The war will soon be over, 

Our flag triumphant wave, 
And, joyous, homeward marching, 

Shall come the soldiers brave. 
I know how you'll be watching 

To see me coming home, 
And I for you'll be watching 

Where wars shall never come. 

'Tis growing dark and chilly, 

But I'm alone no more, 
For angels' wings now waft me 

Toward the heavenly shore. 
The pearly gates are op'ning, 

On golden hinges, wide, 
While sweetest voices bid me 

Come ever to abide. 



84 The Dying Soldier 



One day when clouds were weeping, 

And earth was dark and chill, 
His comrades bore him gently 

To home upon the hill. 
And there, with tears, we buried 

The form we could not see, 
Where snowy petals drifted, 

Beneath the apple tree. 



IN MEMORY OF MR. CHARLES DE KLYN 

WITHIN a home where wealth and taste 
Combined with love to make it rare, 
The central figure of a group 

Of stalwart men and women fair, 
He lived a happy life and, when 

The summons came — just fell asleep. 



$5 



THREE LITTLE GIRLS 

THREE little girls once lived with me, 
As cunning and sweet as sweet could be. 
They were so dear and I loved them so 
I thought I never could let them go. 

Some friends, laughing, said: "You surely know- 
As years roll on, the children will grow, 
And, all too soon, you will sadly say: 
'My dear little maids have gone away.' " 

But they did not know — these friends of mine — 
Deep in my heart, for all future time, 
A room was made where, hidden away, 
These three little girls would always stay. 



S6 



FINIS 

THE shadows softly fall, 
The night is drawing nigh. 
I lay aside my pen — 
Good-by, dear friends, good-by ! 



87 



w 



HISTORY TIMES 

Written during the Civil War 

HEN a child I used to wish I had lived in 
history times, and now that we are making 
history every day, though the war cloud is dark 
above us, our ears have grown familiar with the 
sound of martial music, booming of cannon, and 
bursting of shell ; yet I am glad that I live. I had 
thought that the day of heroic deeds had passed, 
that we, who so proudly boast of our forefathers' 
bravery, had grown too degenerate to emulate it; 
but, O, how nobly — aye, gloriously — have I seen 
my fears refuted! When the war cry first rang 
through our land, was it not a noble sight to see 
our brave volunteers step forth so boldly and firmly 
to do battle for the Union and for the right — 
old men, young men, and some we had thought 
children, from the plow, the mechanics' bench, 
the counting-room, the college, and even the school- 
room — all ready to do or die ? It was no less noble 

to see the unselfish devotion of fathers, mothers, 

88 



History Times 89 



and sisters, who with pallid faces and trembling 
lips spoke brave words of cheer to the departing 
ones. I have heard wives, with their little ones 
around them, say : "I could not bid my husband stay ; 
I knew it was right for him to go." Maidens, hid- 
ing with their hands their tears and blushes, said: 
"I love him all the more because he loves his 
country." It may be some will say, "Those who have 
no friends engaged in it think war is a fine thing, 
but let some of their loved ones go and they will 
think differently." It is not so. All through our 
land there are many, very many, who, in spite of 
anxiety and sorrow, thank God that they live in 
such a time as this. At almost every hearthstone 
there is at least one vacant chair, one gone to the 
war. There are but few family altars from which 
the prayer does not ascend for the "absent one," 
and when I think of the prayers each day ascending 
I feel our cause must prevail. From our own home 
circle the youngest, our best beloved, our only 
one, has gone to battle for the right; we thought 
him but a child, but when he told us, with the 
firmness and decision of a man, that he thought it 
•his duty to go, we knew that the boy had passed 



90 History Times 



away forever. Our nestling had plumed his wings 
for a flight and, if we would, we could not hold 
him. Our love cried out, "We cannot let thee go" — 
our only one ; but we stilled its voice, crushed back 
the aching heart, and, with a "God speed thee," bade 
him go. While I am writing that precious, only 
brother may be sleeping his last sleep. Others as 
young and brave, as well beloved, have been laid 
away cold and white, far from those who would 
have willingly given their own life's blood to save 
them from harm. I trust that I shall see him again, 
in health and strength, but if I do not, the Lord's 
will be done. 

It is a glorious thing to die for one's country. 
News comes each day of victory. There are rifts 
in the clouds — the blue sky is seen, a promise of 
clear weather after the storm, peace after the 
tempest. The Stars and Stripes are waving where 
late secession flaunted its colors, and, from all 
our housetops, we throw out the dear old flag. 
We watch the sunbeams kiss and the winds lovingly 
caress it, feeling as if we could do the same; with 
hearts brimful of joy we throw our hats in air and 
shout, "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!!" But when we 



History Times 91 



read of killed and wounded, though they may all be 
strangers to us, we think of the loving ones, who 
with throbbing hearts will read, till they find what 
they so much fear, and, with tearful eyes, we invol- 
untarily murmur, "God pity the bereaved." Many 
hearts have been and will yet be saddened, the 
earth has and will yet drink many a patriot's blood ; 
but from their ashes shall spring liberty to all. 
The flag that has been trampled beneath the foot 
of rebellion shall yet wave over a land washed 
white from every stain, and made worthy to be 
called the land of the free as it now is the home of 
the brave. 



A WORD ABOUT CHILDREN 

IF the apostle Paul had lived in our day, he 
would never have written, "I will that the 
younger women marry and bear children," for he 
would have realized the sad fact that there is no 
place for those of whom the Saviour said, "Of 
such is the kingdom of heaven." With Joblike 
patience must the man be endued who, with scant 
purse and a goodly number of the "poor man's 
blessings" goes out to seek a home. Again and 
again will he be asked, "Have you children?" until 
the proud "Of course we have" is changed to the 
humble, "Well, yes, we have a few very quiet ones." 
Exorbitant charges for inferior rooms is what 
he must expect, and he will never be disappointed. 
Boarding houses advertise rooms for ladies and 
gentlemen without encumbrance, and servants tell 
you they left their last place because there were 
children; and they will not come to you unless you 
pay well for the privilege of hearing, "Get out of 

this! — I hate the little pests." It really appears as 

92 



A Word about Children 93 



if there was no room for those of whom our own 
Longfellow has said, 

Ye are better than all the poems 
That were ever sung or said, 

For ye are living poems, 
And all the rest are dead. 

Truly, the times are sadly out of joint when it 
is inexpedient and unfashionable to have children. 
One and, in some cases, two may be allowable, but 
any more, our ladies will tell you, with hands up- 
raised in holy horror, are not to be thought of. 
The olden-time mothers used to study how they 
could best train the immortals God had given them ; 
now they study how they can best live without hav- 
ing them to train. No wonder there are so many 
discontented wives, so many unhappy husbands. 
The best society can give us is a poor substitute for 
the happiness we experience with the little ones, 
who come binding the parents' hearts with chains 
that cannot be broken and converting them to purer 
and nobler lives. If they live, they are our comfort ; 
if God takes them, they are our children forever. 
The dead never grow old, and it is a joy to know 
they await us in "our Father's mansion." 



94 A Word about Children 



But is there a remedy for this state of affairs? 
Physically we are deteriorating; our hotbed system 
of education, our fashionable follies, late hours, and 
late suppers are not conducive to health. There are 
many who are unfitted to bear the burdens of 
married life. Shall we continue to train our 
daughters to shine in society alone, or shall we fit 
them for woman's highest and noblest mission — 
wife and mother? 

God speed the day when, like the Roman mother, 
we shall proudly point to our children and say, 
"Here are my jewels." 



HOW WILLY FOUND A HOME 

THE snow was falling and the cold wind seemed 
to penetrate through the thin but clean gar- 
ments to the very heart of the poor boy who, with 
slow and weary steps, was making his way toward 
a stately mansion. Within, a cheerful fire shed its 
ruddy glare on the pictured walls, books, statuary 
and all the appurtenances of refined life. The heavy 
crimson curtains excluded from sight the want 
and misery outside; within, warmth and plenty; 
without, cold and poverty. A faint ring was heard 
at the door followed by the sharp voice of the foot- 
man: "Get out, you little vagabond. Don't you 
know better than to disturb folks in this way?" 

"I am so cold and hungry," said a plaintive little 
voice. "Please give me a crust." 

"Give you ? No indeed ! Catch me encouraging 
beggars." 

"How much his voice sounds like Willy's used 
to!" said the lady with a sigh. "Do go and bring 
the poor child in." 

A moment more and the gentleman had raised 
95 



g6 How Willy Found a Home 



the child from the steps where he had fallen, and, 
with a look that boded no good to the abashed serv- 
ant, strode into the room, where, with gentle hands, 
they ministered to the child until he recovered. 

As he raised his head from the soft cushions, 
where they had placed it, and gazed about the room 
with a look of awe on his young face, he murmured, 
"Mother, mother." 

"Why do you call mother, my child?" said the 
lady. 

" 'Cause mother is dead and gone to heaven. She 
said if I was good I would come too ; and it's warm 
here, and it must be heaven. O, yes it is, for there 
are the little white angels that she told me about," 
pointing to the beautiful statuettes scattered about 
the room. "But," bursting into tears, "it can't be 
heaven either, for she said I'd have wings, and I 
haven't got any." 

With tears in their own eyes did they soothe the 
child and, when he told them his name was Willy, 
they told him of their Willy that God made an 
angel and, feeling that he was sent to fill their lost 
one's place, they took him to their hearts. So 
Willy found a home. 



A TRUE WOMAN'S RIGHTS MOVEMENT 

BLESSED indeed would be the movement 
that could successfully destroy the root of 
extravagance in our American life. We see it in 
all our domestic economy. Our food is made up of 
labor-making, brain-wearing concoctions that make 
irritable children and dyspeptic husbands. 

Our wardrobes have become so complicated that 
fashion's demands leave but little time for recrea- 
tion or mental culture. In our anxiety to appear as 
well as our neighbors we buy the extra trimmings, 
forgetting for the moment the engraving we have 
been wishing for, that would have gladdened our 
eyes and hearts for many days, or the book that 
might have strengthened us in some good purpose, 
or given some much-needed instruction. Our chil- 
dren must be miniature fashion plates, so we waste 
much of the time that should be spent in preparing 
them for the white robes we want them to wear by 
and by. It is nonsense to say we do not care what 
others think. We do care ! We boast of our inde- 
pendence, but I think we could have a little 
more in our social life without hurting us. No 

97 



98 A True Woman's Rights Movement 



wonder so few in moderate circumstances dare to 
marry; it cannot be otherwise while our young 
people expect to live in the style their parents have 
attained after years of patient toil, and while the 
wives spend their time in the dissipations of society. 
If some of our women who have talent and posi- 
tion would, only for the sake of those weaker and 
less favored ones, commence a crusade against all 
extravagance, but particularly that of dress, they 
would be exercising one of the most important rights 
of women — that of doing good. It is not right that 
our fashionable congregations on the Sabbath should 
resemble the audience at the opera in the beauty 
and elegance of their attire, nor is it right that any 
should be kept from God's house because of others' 
devotion to fashion's shrine. Surely, on the Lord's 
Day, we should remember we are all of one flesh. 
It is the women of wealth and social standing that 
must do this work. If they will lead the van, others 
will gladly follow. When we see fewer jewels and 
laces among the rich, less French gilt and imitation 
among the poor, we will have taken a step in the 
right direction and may hope for a partial return to 
our old simplicity. 



IN THE INGLE NOOK 

IN the quietude of our "Ingle Nook," to which 
come only the echoes of the strenuous life 
that surrounds us, there is time for many thoughts 
and much wonderment. Just now we are wondering 
why so many churches desire young ministers to 
supply their pulpits. 

We love the young ministers for their enthusiasm, 
but the Methodist church rejoices in a Bishop 1 whose 
name is a synonym for and who is himself a per- 
petual fountain of enthusiasm; one does not need 
to be young to enthuse. We love the young men 
for their earnestness, but there are very many we 
could mention who have crossed the "noneffective 
line" (whatever that may be), who work as if they 
realized that "the night cometh when no man can 
work." Indeed, one does not need to be young ; the 
man whose heart is filled with the love of God 
suffers no diminution of zeal as he travels west- 
ward. We love the young for their quixotic aggres- 
siveness and evident determination to right the 



i Bishop C. C. McCabe. 

99 



ioo In the Ingle Nook 



wrongs of the world in their own time. Their little 
assumptions of dignity are charming, their brilliant 
expositions and oratorical perorations are wonder- 
fully attractive; but we are old, and long since 
grew tired of pyrotechnics; we pleasantly remem- 
ber, however, that these young "Boanerges," like 
wine, will mellow with age. 

There are many, like ourselves, who, while they 
love both the young and old, find their hearts cry- 
ing out for the loving sympathy, the tender touch 
upon the heart-strings, that some of the older breth- 
ren have learned in their long years of ministry. 
When the lines are slipping from the willing but 
nerveless hands that have so long and faithfully 
held them, who can comfort us like the pastor who 
has known and loved us for years, and who himself 
begins to feel his days of usefulness are ending? 
Ah me! there is nothing can compensate for ex- 
perience, and, God willing, when I "cross the bar" 
and "put out to sea," may one of the many whose 
names are honored in our household as pastors of 
our younger days bid me "Be of good cheer." 



HOW WE WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS 

NAN and I were discussing the same old bread- 
and-butter question that has always vexed 
humanity when I suddenly espied the following in 
the daily paper: "Wanted — Two young girls as 
waitresses, in a hotel in the mountains. Liberal 
compensation and pleasant room." 

I, the younger and more impulsive, grasped my 
sister wildly as I said: "Just the thing for us! 
Change of air and 'money in our purse.' " 

"Yes," said Nan, slowly, "if mother would only 
consent." 

"Of course she will. Is she not wild with anxiety 
about you? Why, only last night she told this dis- 
gusted individual if she could find a chaperon she 
would send you to the mountains, and we would 
visit that horrid old aunt of hers, to save board 
while you were away." 

"Dear mother," said Nan with tears in her eyes, 
"I know she thinks the mountain air would cure 
me, and I believe it would give me new life. If she 
consents, we will go." 



io2 How We Went to the Mountains 



We had a hard time to get mother to say yes, 
but her anxiety for Nan (who was suffering with 
malaria) and her desire to have us both go pre- 
vailed, and, to our intense delight, in a few days we 
were packing for the White Mountains. We pro- 
vided ourselves with innumerable white aprons, and, 
after diligent study of the subject, felt competent to 
give points on "waiting." 

"What are you doing, Jean?" said mother, as I 
placed in the trunk the pretty graduating dresses 
that uncle had sent us. "O, who knows what may 
happen? The Prince might come, and we must 
have something in which to receive him." 

"You won't need them, dear; but if you have 
room, take them along, though I think the 'Prince' 
will hardly be attracted by my little waiting 
maids." 

Words cannot express the delights of our journey. 
Our winter had been passed in a round of uncon- 
genial duties, and, half sick and weary, we were 
pining for a change. Now we were to have it. 
Thank heaven, caste cannot keep us from gathering 
inspiration from the mountains, or life-giving 
draughts from the bracing air. 



How We Went to the Mountains 103 



Our Letters 

June 14, 19—. 
Dear Mother: Here we are, hot, tired, and 
dusty, but O ! so glad to be here. We have a little 
room quite at the top of the house, neat and clean, 
but very plain, but there are two windows that seem 
to let in the universe. To-morrow we begin our 
duties ; to-night we are to rest. Nan is resting, but 
I feel as if I had wings and must fly. It is a mag- 
nificent hotel, two thousand feet above the sea, and 
yet mountains rise steep from its very doors and 
the horizon and zenith seem almost to meet. I 
wish I could describe it, but words are powerless. 
Nan says, "Do not worry, I feel stronger already." 
God keep you "till we meet again." 

Yours lovingly, Nan and Jean 

June 15. 
We are tired to-night, and shall only send you a 
word to let you know we commenced waiting to-day. 
How I wish you could have seen us! Nan made 
her hair as smooth as possible, and my refractory 
curls didn't look quite as saucy as usual. Our 
aprons and collars were "spandy clean," our caps 



io4 How We Went to the Mountains 



very becoming and, we flatter ourselves,, we were a 
success in every particular, though I nearly came 
to grief when a pompous, red-faced man, with a 
huge diamond on his hand and dirty finger nails, 
called loudly, "Here, girl, some water !" and Nan, in 
her carefully modulated voice, answered, "In a 
moment, sir." Several smiled — the contrast was so 
striking. Nan is decidedly better. Good night. 
Your loving girlies, Nan and Jean< 

June 22. 
Dear Mother : One sees all sorts of people here. 
Some of the ladies and gentlemen are polite and 
careful of giving trouble; others evidently think of 
us as mere machines. The dining-room is a study 
we should enjoy if we were not so busy. As it is, 
we use our eyes and ears to the best advantage and 
shall have much to tell you when we return. Here 
are many representative men and lovely women. 
One of the loveliest sits at our table ; she is tall and 
graceful, with exquisite complexion, and violet eyes 
shaded by long, black lashes; her hair is silvery 
white, worn a la pompadour, and her dress per- 
fection. We call her "our lady," but know she is 



How We Went to the Mountains 105 



a person of distinction by the deference shown her 
and the admiration she commands. We have taken 
your advice — holding ourselves aloof, doing our 
duty and then retreating to our sky parlor. We are 
glad to be here and it would do your dear, anxious 
heart good to see the soft color that has come back 
to Nan's cheek and the sparkle that is in her eye. 
But I don't mind telling you, we sometimes wish 
we were guests and could join with the rest. Last 
night as we kept time to the witchery of "The Merry 
Widow" we took a little turn, as Nan said, "to 
keep our feet in." To be sure, the bed and trunk 
limited our range, but we were dancing in a 
"crowded room" and didn't mind. 

There is a pleasant stir and excitement in the 
house, in anticipation of an entertainment for the 
benefit of the "Sick Babies' Fund." A noted elocu- 
tionist has been engaged, and Madame B. (our 
lady), who has a voice like a bird, has promised to 
sing. A large number of tickets have been sold and 
it promises to be a great financial success, as well 
as a society event. 

Auf wiedersehen, 

Nan and Jean. 



io6 How We Went to the Mountains 



June 24. 
Dear Mother: Such a strange thing has hap- 
pened — just like a lovely story — and we the hero- 
ines. I hardly know where to commence. Xan 
says "at the beginning." You know I told you 
about the entertainment, elocutionist, etc. Well, on 
the very day about ten o'clock, a telegram was 
received; he was taken suddenly ill and could not 
possibly come. Consternation prevailed. It was 
too late to make other arrangements and "our 
lady" looked troubled. Nan and I, with one ac- 
cord, rushed to our room, wished for your clear 
head for a moment, and then bravely resolved 
to offer our services. Nan went alone, while I 
prayed for success. With fear and trembling 
she told her errand to Madame B. in the simplest 
manner — how we had made elocution our study, 
had often recited for local charities, and finished 
by saying that while we could not hope to fill 
Professor H.'s place, we could entertain an au- 
dience. Madame sent her maid for me, and when 
I arrived she was listening, somewhat incredulously, 
while Nan told her she was familiar with most of 
the program. "Try this," said she, pointing to 



How We Went to the Mountains 107 



"Maud Muller," while I inwardly blessed the pro- 
fessor for the hard drilling he had given us on what 
we used to call "Poor old Maud." Nan recited as 
I had never heard her, and when she finished "our 
lady's" eyes were filled with tears. A little of "When 
Melindy Sings" and then came my trial. I was half 
wild with suppressed excitement, and gave "Mary 
Richling's Ride" with a vim that was evidently 
astonishing, for Madame kindly said, "Don't tire 
yourself, dear; you will have a hard evening." So 
it is settled we are to give readings to-night, she 
(Madame, you know) getting us excused from at- 
tendance at table for the rest of the day. All defi- 
ciencies of toilette she has offered to supply, but, 
thanks to my intuition — shall I call it that ? — we are 
all right. You can imagine our feelings when we 
had locked ourselves in our room. "We wept a 
little weep, we laughed a little laugh," but only a 
little, for we had no time for nonsense. We dressed 
early, so as to have a little time for practice, but 
were hardly ready when Madame came, filled with 
anxiety about our appearance. You should have 
seen her look at Nan (who was radiant) ; then turn- 
ing to me, with a satisfied air, she said, "Who 



io8 How We Went to the Mountains 



taught you how to dress?" "O," said Nan, "mam- 
ma is something of an artist." "And her daughters 
inherit her talent," said she, pleasantly. 

Midnight. 
We will send you the newspaper account of the 
evening, and will only tell you we never did better. 
Our wildest hopes were realized. Madame accom- 
panied us to our room and, kissing us tenderly, 
said, "You will go with me to the dining-room to- 
morrow as guests." On opening the envelope, which 
she left in Nan's hand, we found the thanks of the 
committee and a check for one hundred dollars, the 
amount that would have been paid to Professor H. 
We have time now to weep out our joy and excite- 
ment. You, who know what this is to us, will join 
in our prayer of thanksgiving. 

Your loving daughters, 

Nan and Jean. 

{From the Society Mirror) 

Wealth and fashion combined to make last even- 
ing's entertainment a grand success. It was feared 
the nonappearance of Prof. H. would prove detri- 
mental, but, fortunately, Madame B. secured the 



How We Went to the Mountains 109 



services of two talented sisters, protegees of hers, 
who more than filled the vacancy. Their renderings 
were exquisite and, at their own sweet will, they 
made the audience laugh or weep. Madame B. 
sang superbly and was repeatedly encored; in fact, 
there were so many recalls there was little time left 
for dancing. One of the hits of the evening was 
a tableau of "Memory." A beautiful woman re- 
clined in a chair, apparently wrapped in slumber, 
while one of the young ladies recited the following 
original lines, to a soft accompaniment played by 
the other ; it was charmingly unique and given with 
such tenderness of expression there were but few 
dry eyes in the room. 

All night long have I been wand'ring 

To and fro in Mem'ry's halls, 
Half in joy and half in sadness 

Gazing on its pictured walls — 

Gazing into eyes that never 

Failed to answer back to mine, 
Pressing lips that used to thrill me 
With a joy almost divine; 

Clasping hands whose firm, strong pressure 
Made me think life's bitt'rest blast 

Should it touch, could never harm me 
While those dear hands held me fast; 



no How We Went to the Mountains 



Folded in the arms of loved ones, 

Listening to the music sweet 
Of the half-forgotten pet names 

That 'twixt kisses they repeat ; 

Eyes, whose light from earth has vanished, 
Lips, whence kisses long since fled, 

Hands, unclasped from mine forever, 
Voices, silent with the dead. 

Madame B. was royal in a Worth gown of finest 
black lace, its meshes half revealing the beautiful 
neck and arms. It was fastened at the throat with 
a magnificent diamond star, while stars of lesser 
magnitude studded the jet comb that confined her 
snowy hair. The same precious stones flashed 
from the blackness of her gauzy fan. Miss Gray, the 
elder of the sisters, a blonde beauty with classic head 
crowned with magnificent golden hair, looked like 
some Undine, in a gown of billowy chiffon, through 
which the glint of satin was seen, with water lilies 
looping the waves that floated around her. Miss 
Jean, graceful and distingue, was artistically lovely 
in shimmering white, lightly frosted with silver, her 
slender waist defined by a girdle of hops, which, 
meeting at the side, fell in clusters to the foot of 
her gown. There is a rumor that the young ladies 



How We Went to the Mountains in 



were waitresses at the hotel, but it has no founda- 
tion. The facts are, they are the daughters of a 
distinguished gentleman, who, after meeting with 
heavy reverses, recently died abroad. The girls 
were studying voice culture at the time of his death 
and have now come home to coin money (we hope) 
by their wonderful talents. They go directly to 
Newport from here, matronized by Madame B., 
who was a friend of their father. 

Dear Mother: You wouldn't think the above 
refers to your girlies, would you ? How we laughed 
when we read it! However, there is a grain of 
truth. Madame is really going to take charge of us, 
as you will see by the inclosed letter. Is she not 
kind and lovely? We go from here to Newport. 
She tells us simplicity is the style for young girls, 
and we can get along with what we have and a few 
et ceteras. Of course we shall study hard, but we 
are full of enthusiasm and shall not mind it, for, 
mother darling, this is but the prelude ! We are to 
give readings in New York next winter and shall 
look for rooms as soon as we get home. 

Our kind friend is like an angel to us. She savs 



U2 How We Went to the Mountains 



all we need is a chance, and that she will give us, 
because she knows (only think of it!) what it is 
to need a friend. We are as well and happy as can 
be and shall never regret that we went to the moun- 
tains as "waiter girls." 

Your loving daughters, 

Nan and Jean. 



THE FIN-DE-SIECLE MINISTER 

IN the dolce far niente of the lovely summer home 
I found in a quiet seaport town I had almost 
forgotten the sketch I promised to write. But this 
day conscience stirred uneasily, and, half petulant, 
I soliloquized: "There's nothing new under the 
sun; anyway, there's nothing unique in this sleepy 
place." But I was mistaken, for, lo! at the very 
door was my inspiration — a golden haze in the dusty 
street, a flash of steel, a glint of blue, a gleam of 
auburn hair as a cap was waved, and it was gone. 

"Who, may I ask, was the 'Little Boy Blue'?" 
said I to my companion. 

"That was our minister." 

It was evident that "our minister" was strongly 
entrenched, at least in this heart, and, begging par- 
don, I said, "I am not used to seeing the clergy in 
bicycle attire." 

"O, but you should see him in his clerical garb; 
he looks very different." 

Dear child! — she was right. I saw him in the 
longest of coats, stiffest of collars, and highest of 
"3 



ii4 The Fin-de-Siecle Minister 



hats, and he did look different. The heat was in- 
tense, he had just returned from a Christian 
Endeavor picnic, and some one asked him how he 
found the place. "Why," said he, wiping the per- 
spiration from his brow and vainly trying to uplift 
a collar that was limp to the last degree, "I saw 
them in the distance, and knew none but Christians 
would wear a garb like this on such a day." Then 
he strode homeward to don garments of less dignity 
and more comfort. 

I am an "old lady," but not an "old, old lady," and 
it touched my sense of humor that this fin-de-siecle 
youth should minister in "holy things" to this plain 
people, many of them grown old in the service of 
the Lord. But when I learned that the "Little Boy 
Blue," as I still mentally called him, speeding away 
on his wheel, was carrying words of cheer and com- 
fort to a large parish of which none were neglected, 
that the pretty yacht he sailed and the automobile 
he drove were all, as it were, consecrated to his 
work, my heart went out to him, and I began to 
think it might be time for some of my old-fashioned 
notions to explode. 

One night I went to the prayer meeting with the 



The Fin-de-Siecle Minister 115 



daughter of the house, who, by the way, is a charm- 
ing girl very much in love with the minister, but so 
sweet and modest I don't think he even suspects 
it. The plain little church was crowded; there 
were a good many young people, many ladies who 
were evidently boarders or visitors from the city. 
I was particularly attracted by the beauty and 
chic appearance of one of them. To the uninitiated 
she was simply attired, but it was the elegant sim- 
plicity that costs so much and, as she seated her- 
self behind my little friend, I noticed for the first 
time how very plain the latter looked. I was begin- 
ning to feel tired and glanced furtively at my 
watch. Then the minister began to pray — and such 
a prayer! The exquisitely modulated voice was 
soon forgotten in the impassioned eloquence. It 
was the loving Father, the tender Elder Brother, 
whom he addressed with a confidence and faith 
that opened to him the Holy of holies. Ah me! 
how I wished I had never been content with the 
dry husks of religious platitudes and sophistries! 
How the heart melted and the eyes moistened as, 
borne on by his resistless faith, I seemed to touch 
the hem of the Master's seamless robe ! As he rose 



n6 The Fin-de-Siecle Minister 



from his knees I heard a long-drawn sigh from the 
seat behind, and the young lady who had attracted 
me whispered to her companion : "How glad I am 
that he didn't pray for rain! If he had, my gown 
would have been spoiled." 

It was the last time I was out for many a day. 
A sprained ankle tried hard to spoil my holiday; 
but, thanks to my nurse — who was gentleness itself 
— and to this same "up-to-date" clergyman, I did 
not find it very tiresome. How much I was in- 
debted to my pretty nurse for his attentions I am 
not prepared to say, but I soon learned to love his 
almost daily calls, some of them very brief, but all 
bringing sunshine and cheer. Sometimes he would 
stop in the parlor and play a snatch of some new 
music, oftener some low accompaniment, and bring 
balm to my heart as he sang, "Jesus, Lover of my 
soul" ; or his rich voice would roll out "Faith of our 
Fathers!" At other times he would bring a spray 
of wild flowers or a curious stone. One day he 
read to me Browning's "Saul." Another time he 
dipped into "Locusts and Wild Honey" ; but it was 
the "Book of all books" that he loved, and his quo- 
tations were so apt and appropriate that I can never 



The Fin-de-Siecle Minister 117 



forget them. For instance, I told him one morning 
I could not sleep for fear of moving my foot and 
hurting it. He immediately replied: "He will 
not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth 
thee will not slumber"; and again, when I wished 
the sun might shine — "The Lord make his face 
shine upon thee and be gracious to thee, the Lord 
lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee 
peace." 

All this time the sweetest of idyls was being un- 
consciously written. It takes a tempest to open 
some men's eyes — I shall never forget it : all nature 
seemed to swoon with the heat; not a leaf stirred; 
as I lay by my open window I could hear the men 
talk of the storm coming and wonder if all the 
boats were in. Suddenly a beautiful white yacht, 
with every inch of canvas spread, glided, O, so 
slowly, past, looking ghostly upon the inky waters; 
in a moment more the storm was upon us. I 
caught a glimpse of the boat as the wind rilled her 
sails and she slid off, luckily, into the harbor. 

For a few moments heaven and earth seemed 
contending for the mastery ; chaos reigned ; thunder 
rolled incessantly, and one continuous flash lit up 



u8 The Fin-de-Siecle Minister 



the sky. Trees went crashing in all directions, 
hailstones rattled upon the roofs and windows, and 
the air was filled with flying debris. Suddenly as 
it came, so it ceased. We could still hear the mut- 
tering thunder in the distance and the dripping of 
the rain, but it was the calm after the tempest. 
Looking toward the pier, I saw it was crowded with 
men, women, and children, and, listening intently, 
I could distinguish — "Johnny Green's boat and the 
minister gone to the rescue." A dull thud and my 
dear girl was lying unconscious at my feet. For a 
moment I felt as if my own boat had gone down. 
Then loud cries of "Saved! saved! saved!" rent the 
air. The transition was so sudden and complete it 
quite upset me and I joined, at the top of my voice, 
in the cry of "Saved !" A faint moan from Ruth 
gave me assurance that she was recovering. Louder 
and louder rose the cheers, and, snatching my glass, 
I saw a steam tug towing the minister's little yacht. 
I could see the mast was broken, that he was deadly 
white. The blue cap was gone and the jaunty white 
sweater drenched with water; but it was with the 
air of a victor he pointed to the prostrate body of 
the boy in the bottom of the boat. God only knows 



The Fin-de-Sicclc Minister 119 



how he saved him. Some said it was foolhardy for 
him to go as he did, but the boy's widowed mother 
felt, with me, it was the act of a hero. 

The next day he called, and before we could 
speak said: "Please do not congratulate me; I 
am tired of such a fuss. It was only humane." 
Then, looking at Ruth, whose still, pale face em- 
phasized the scar made yesterday, a light I had 
never seen before came into his eyes, and intuitively 
I knew he guessed she had fainted and fallen on 
seeing his danger. On his departure it took her 
a long time to see him out, and when she returned 
I did not need to have her whisper, "He loves me." 

"And why should he not?" said I. "You are 
so sweet and pretty." "O," replied she, earnestly, 
"he said it was not my looks that made him love 
me, but [with a humility that was astonishing in a 
twentieth century girl] my goodness. Pray for me 
that I may not disappoint him." 

* >K >jc %. ;jc 

In the distance I hear wedding bells. God bless 
the fin-de-siecle minister and his bride I 



LI *»* 



D^ 



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